


The Immortals

by MrProphet



Category: Frankenstein - Mary Shelley, Greek and Roman Mythology, Islamic Scripture & Lore, Jewish Scripture & Legend, Le avventure di Pinocchio | The Adventures of Pinocchio - Carlo Collodi
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 04:43:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10689966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrProphet/pseuds/MrProphet





	The Immortals

Galatea worked her wrists against the straps which held them. The leather was tough, but her skin showed not the least sign of reddening or blistering. For Galatea, being strapped to an electric chair was a matter of irritation, rather than terror; any band would wear away eventually, but Galatea would remain. The straps were worn almost through when the door to the weird, Gothic laboratory in which she was held burst open.

A small, dapper man entered, flanked by a pair of shambling, grey-skinned figures, like the ones who had brought her here in the first place. She remembered the attack; the dogged persistence of her assailants and their resistance even to her great strength. The man left the creatures by the door and busied himself with attending to his machines and his bubbling retorts, sparing not a glance for Galatea.

Galatea pulled and was able to move her right hand far enough to begin working a metal plate loose with her fingers.

Apparently satisfied at last, the man approached his prisoner. “My apologies for the delay, Madame,” he said. “The extraction equipment needed time to attune to the unique essence of a creature such as you.”  
Galatea felt an unfamiliar crawling sensation in her gut.

“We still have a few minutes until the processes are charged, so perhaps introductions are in order.” He sketched a short bow. “I am the Comte de St Germain… and you,” he added when Galatea did not speak, “are Madame Galatea. I am ancient by the reckoning of the world, but you…” He walked over and ran his finger along Galatea’s cheek. “Still as smooth and flawless as the marble that he made you from.”

Galatea jerked her head away from his touch. The crawling became a squirming; she tried to remember, was this… fear?

“What do you want?” she demanded.

St Germain touched his own lined features. “What do you think I want? I want to take back that which you have stolen. I have only survived this far by draining the vital essence of humans, but I have refined that elixir as far as I can. It can slow aging, but never halt or reverse it.”

Galatea’s eyes widened in horror. “You kill people, to stay young?”

“Hard to extract their vital essence without reducing their… vitality,” St Germain chuckled.

“You’re some kind of… vampire?”

“You can’t talk! What of you? You were given eternal life by the hand of a man and you spurned him!”

“You have no idea,” Galatea hissed. “Where I come from, what my life was.”

St Germain shrugged. “It matters little. You have an almost infinite wellspring of strength and vitality which you do  _not_  deserve. “By extracting the essence of that vitality I shall have what I have sought all these years; a true elixir of immortality. You, of course, shall die.”

Galatea strained against her bonds; panic threatened to seize her. For the first time in her long life she realised that she was facing death. “You can’t do this,” she whispered.

“We shall see,” he assured her. “Homonculi; engage the main capacitors.” He threw up his arms and roared to the sky. “It’s time to get this party started.”

With a thunderous crash the doors to the laboratory were ripped from their hinges, flattening the homunculi even as they began to move. Galatea made use of the distraction to rip the metal plate from the arm of the chair and begin working on the strap.

“No!” St Germain howled in rage and scattered a layer of dust across the floor. “Homonculi! To me!”

At his command the floor bubbled and more of the grey-skinned servitors rose up out of the stone. Four, then four more, and four more.

St Germain pulled a fistful of long, white fangs from his pocket. “Children of the hydra’s teeth! Arise!”

The dust cloud cleared and two giant figures appeared in the doorway, one tall and powerful with long, unkempt hair and battered biker’s leathers; one vast and hulking, a bullet-headed mountain in a brightly-coloured, woven poncho.

“Somebody ordered a party,” the tall man growled.

A third figure, lean and lissom, flipped through the air above their heads, trailing a long, flowing coat. He bounced off the head of one of the homunculi to reverse his movement and land in front of the others in an elaborate kung fu pose. “Then let’s get this party started,” he said with a bright grin.

The tall man groaned. “That’s what he said, twig nose. You can’t just repeat what  _he_  said.”

“I didn’t  _hear_  him, bolt-brain; you and the Golem were in the way.”

“Well, did  _you_  want to break the door down?”

Galatea slumped in her chair. “My heroes,” she muttered.

With a series of gunshot cracks, five holes split open in the floor. Five skeletal arms reached out towards the ceiling. Five skeletal hands flexed into fists and, as though pulling on the air for support, hauled five skeletal warriors up from the floor. Tiles and concrete erupted around them.

“Gentlemen, please.” A small, wizened figure hobbled between the Golem’s legs to stand beside the acrobat, leaning heavily on an ebony cane. “Argue later,” he said, “right now there are arses to kick.”

The metal sliced through the leather and Galatea reached across to her other strap.

“Get them!” St Germain screamed. “Destroy these… circus freaks!”

The homunculi shambled forward, arms groping towards the intruders. Galatea knew from harsh experience how powerful those arms were, but the acrobat stepped confidently to meet them with a flurry of kicks and punches which knocked them back, spun them around, sent them reeling. 

Then the old man stepped forward, swinging his cane in his left hand. As each homunculus stepped forward he blocked its strike and snapped out his right hand, flinging a tiny glass sphere into the homunculus’s chest. Each sphere popped in a cloud of dust and the homunculus fell, its flesh steaming.

The skeleton warriors stepped to the attack, drawing swords from their sides. The acrobat and the old man went on the defensive, backing away from a blur of blades. A bony kick drove the old man onto his back, but the Golem was there before the sword could fall, sending the skeleton flying through a row of alchemical glassware. The acrobat was struggling, but the tall biker stepped past him and swung a huge fist, shattering bone into splinters.

“No!” St Germain turned back towards Galatea, just in time to see her slice through one of her leg straps. “No!” he cried again. “I must have your essence!”

Galatea cut away the final strap. “I bet you say that to all the girls,” she said and then winced at the realisation that he very probably did.

The last of the hydra-tooth warriors cut deep into the biker’s side and was swatted across the room for his troubles. St Germain looked from Galatea to the four intruders and back again, his face twisted in rage and dismay. He flung up his hand and hurled a glass sphere to the floor at his feet. Clouds of roiling black smoke surrounded him and, when Galatea plunged into the cloud to try and seize him, he was gone.

“Sorcery!” the biker snarled.

“Alchemy,” the old man replied. “Collect up the bones; every fragment. Burn them.” He turned to Galatea and bowed from the waist. “Good day to you, Madame Galatea.”

Galatea frowned. “Does everyone in the world know who I am?”

“In our little world, most certainly, although it was only when St Germain made his move that I knew that you were you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You are the only one of our kind – that I know of – who is older than me, Madame. Forgive me; I am Herr Doktor Abu Musa Takwin ibn Jabir al azdi. I was birthed not of woman but distilled from an alchemist’s alembic in Kufa in the year 199AH, but you…”

“I was shaped by a sculptor’s hands in 2500BC, or there about, and breathed into life by a goddess to be his husband. He was a great sculptor, and a rotten husband. I’ve had better since. And your companions?”

Takwin pointed to the hulking figure. “My oldest friend, Gavra ben Loew; a golem born of clay and animated by the divine Word in AD1580.”

“Hi.”

The golem nodded his head.

The acrobat swaggered forward. “Gepetto Collodi di Firenze.” He took Galatea’s hand and kissed it. “Incantanto, Signora.”

“Charmed,” Galatea laughed.

“‘Gepetto – as he prefers – was carved from wood in 1815 and… earned his life,” Takwin explained. 

“And this is the baby of the outfit,” Gepetto said.

“I’m a year younger than you,” the biker growled. “Adam von Frankenstein,” he told Galatea. “Child of science and lightning.”

“Frankenstein,” Gepetto snorted.

“Don’t start with me Pino…”

“Enough!” Takwin interrupted. “Burn the bones and we can get after St Germain.”

Galatea frowned. “What is his deal?”

“He wants to be immortal,” Takwin replied. “He envies us our endless existence.”

“Why?” Galatea asked.

“Because his life is finite he does not recognise the curse of eternity. He seeks to steal what we have because he does not see.”

“See what?”

“That we can not die a natural death only because we were not born a natural birth. We inspired his madness, so it is our duty to hunt him down and try to save as many of his victims as we can.”

“And we fight crime!” Gepetto added brightly.

Gavra swept bone dust into a pile in the centre of the room. Adam stood over the mound and struck his hands together. A brilliant spark leaped from his right palm; the dust ignited with a flash and the bone pile burned swiftly into ashes.

“Now what?” Galatea asked.

“We go after St Germain,” Takwin replied. “Like I said; he uses alchemy, not sorcery. He can make smoke, but he can’t turn into air. Gavra?”

The golem knelt and pounded one mighty fist into the ground, ripping open St Germain’s hidden trap door.

“You and Adam meet us below,” Takwin ordered. “Gepetto…”

Galatea bent and picked up one of the fallen swords. “I’m coming with you,” she insisted.

“I hoped you might. Gepetto?”

“Oh, no,” the acrobat demurred. “Ladies first.”


End file.
